


Inside Mick's Mobster Novel

by Hiver_Frost_Elf



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Agender Mick Rory, BDSM, Bondage, Chocolate, Coldwave Winter Week 2018, Dom/sub, Domdrop, Non-Sexual Kink, Other, Roleplay, Spanking, Suits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-23 20:52:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17087549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiver_Frost_Elf/pseuds/Hiver_Frost_Elf
Summary: Len, The Asshole™, gets ahold of Mick’s new novel.  It inspires an evening in with his partner.





	Inside Mick's Mobster Novel

**Author's Note:**

> late for day two of Coldwave Winter Week 2018: Inside Mick's Novel + Mobsters + advent calendar. Hey, I did all eleven days of the last two events, I think I can afford to slack off on this one 🤣

Mick didn’t think twice about Len pouring over some paperwork until it turned out it wasn’t paperwork, it was the latest draft of Mick's next novel.  Whereas their first was a sci-fi adventure, this one was, well…

Len’s brows hiked up his forehead, “‘What if… when you’re better, we head out to the chalet?  Get out of the city for the holidays, and I can stuff you with advent chocolates?’” Len set a wrathful glare upon them. “And just when were you going to share with the class?”

Mick shrugged.  They absolutely weren’t blushing.  Heatwave didn’t fucking blush.

“It’s dumb; forget about it,” Mick went to take the draft back, but Len’s hold was tight on the paper.

“Mick Rory, did you just call your idea dumb?”

Mick blanched.  Len had rules.  Mick wasn’t allowed to call themself or their ideas any variation of dumb or stupid.  Len wouldn’t let anyone insult his sub—including and especially his sub.

Len set the draft down.  The stack of papers landed heavy on the desk like his hand landed across their ass once they got into position.  The smacks reminded Mick of the pain Len felt when they dismissed themself so casually: the pain they’d long since dulled themself to.

“You’re very clever, Mick,” Len’s hand in the small of Mick’s back grounded them as they trembled with quiet sobs in the aftermath of a spanking: hand and spoon.  Len was rubbing cream into the simmering flesh. “I’d love to treat you, if you’ll let me.”

“It’s stu—” Mick’s breath hitched.

Len narrowed his eyes.

“Shouldn’t want it,” Mick shook his head. “I can feed my-fuckin’-self.”

Len tilted his head and shrugged, “Can fight and steal by yourself too, but you let me come along.  We even write together sometimes…”

Mick _hrm_ ed.

Len rubbed their back.  The two of them just stayed on the couch in companionable quiet: Mick’s deep breaths and Len’s humming.

“Will you let me treat you, Mick?”

“Y-ya want this?”

“Very much so.”

Mick sat up in Len’s lap, clasping his shoulders, touching foreheads, smiling at last, “Alright, Lenny.”

* * *

“Feel alright?”

Mick hummed happily, then gave Len three blinks for yes when he asked for a clearer answer.  Len smooched their forehead and reviewed the safeword and gestures one last time.  They’d already gone over them, yet the extra check-in—and the ropes—allayed some of the nerves that’d popped up due to the newness of what they’d be doing tonight.

Len kept watch over Mick as he smoothed his sleeves into place.  He looked unfairly debonair in a fur-lapelled navy suit with gleaming, golden buttons.  They weren’t melted down tributes to a criminal lord like their counterparts from Mick’s novel, but this was a costume anyway.  It only had to be real enough.  He hoped it was real enough.

Len breathed deeply and counted to ten.  At one, he still wasn’t sure he’d be able to bring his partner’s creation to life, although the suit certainly felt nice; at ten, the suit broadcasted that he owned the world—or at least the interesting parts of it.

He closed in on the bed and where Mick lay: scruffy and scarred from every battle they’d won, both against themself and the world.  Eyes trusting and breathing easy.  Starting with a rub of their arch and ankle.  Coasting up a sturdy leg and pausing to squeeze a hip.  Len’s smile may not have been entirely his, but the affection in his voice belonged to him, to be given to Mick.

Len continued up Mick’s chest as he talked, smirking at the frisson from swirling a vulturous finger around their nipple, “Hungry, my flame?”

“Yeah, boss,” _Boss Kalt_ they added under their breath, reverently, loving it yet still not sure this was all okay.  Len brought his hand up to Mick’s cheek to reassure them that yes it was.

“Good. That means your appetite has returned,” Len thought back to the entire chapter of Scorch powering through illness to keep Boss Kalt safe.  He was screaming at Scorch to stop and rest or for Boss Kalt to notice, but nope, it took Scorch collapsing after a meeting anyone to spot anything amiss.  That along with the aftermath of the latest spanking they’d had left Len wondering if he’d been neglecting his partner recently.  He vowed to do much better by them, especially with the nights growing colder and longer and tormenting them with snow that yanked boots of their feet like imitation mud.

Len stopped himself from scheming to grab Mick a new pair of thick socks in order to focus on them and their scene.  They weren’t at some fancy vacation home, just one of the nicer safehouses out the outskirts of the city.  There wasn’t a fireplace in their bedroom, but Mick was happy enough to light candles throughout the room.  So many details didn’t match the book at all, yet Mick nuzzled Len’s hand all the same.  Len was choking on the trust they gave him.

“Gimme a color, Lenny.”

He was frozen.  Sure, it was fine despite its flaws, but what if a mistake Len made actually mattered?  What if it wasn’t amazing???

“Hey! Color or gesture or somethin’ or we’re stoppin’ right now!”

“Peachy,” Len blurted out between heavy breaths.

Mick was already out of the ropes and pulling Len into a hug that felt like a weighted blanket: the good kind of pressure, not the kind that brought Len to a halt.  They were counting on him; he didn’t want to fail.

“You’re not failin’,” Mick kept their arms tight and secure around him. “Think we got too excited, made this too complicated.”

“I want this to be good for you.”

“It is—but I wan’it to be good for you, too,” they gave him another squeeze-hug.  They grabbed the advent calendar from the nightstand.  It had a family of snowdorks gathered around a fire, just like in the book. “Wanna just cuddle and eat these?”

“…Yeah. Yeah.”

Len replaced his costume with soft pajamas.  They split the chocolates, but that left one odd sweet.

“Lady and Tramp it?” Mick suggested.

Heads bumped and noses poked as the pair figured out the logistics, but at the end of it, the chocolate-flavored kiss they shared was worth all the trouble.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for taking time to read this! Enjoy the rest of Coldwave Winter Week 2018!


End file.
